


Empty Chairs at Empty Tables

by CuteHeartz



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - American Revolution, Alternate Universe - Historical, American Revolution, Historical Accuracy, Historical Characters - Freeform, Historical Hetalia, Les Misérables References, Mentions of Death, Sad, failed revolution, historical setting, mentions of historical people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-03 10:32:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12746559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuteHeartz/pseuds/CuteHeartz
Summary: Alternate Revolutionary War one shot. Inspired by Les Miserables.America reminisces on his failed revolution and the consequences that his actions reap upon him and his people.





	Empty Chairs at Empty Tables

**Author's Note:**

> This one shot came to me as an idea a long while back and I decided to finally put it into writing. It’s based on Les Miserables, more specifically the song “Empty Chairs at Empty Tables,” which is the inspiration for the title. Hope you enjoy it!

The room sat quietly, almost frozen in time. The tables sat in their straight rows, the books, inkwells and quills, and paper resting undisturbed upon the table tops and the chairs neatly pushed underneath them and everything resting still. Even the air seemed to be immobile, and Alfred had a hard time even recognizing the room when it was dead silent. He was too accustomed to hearing loud arguments in this room. To hearing men yelling at eachother, sometimes even making threats, and when things got too heated and Alfred was sent out to the hallway, he would listen to their muffled fighting instead. But he was not used to the silence. In a way, the silence felt many times more stifling and suffocating than the noise.

Taking a step into the room, however, he could only remember the good things about this room. In this room was where the ideas and philosophies had merged and formed the concept that all men are created equal. In this room was where the radical notion of independence was explored, and where a new nation was ultimately born. Where  _he_ was born. In this room was where his leaders sang the song of freedom, the gospels of truth and the hymns of equality.

Taking these memories into account, he sang for the men who could no longer sing their ideas for him.

” _There’s a grief that can’t be spoken..._

_There’s a pain goes on and on_

_Empty Chairs at Empty Tables_

_Now my friends are Dead and Gone..”_

Their revolutionary ideals had spawned a revolution. And as Alfred walked around the room, glancing at each desk and remembering the names of the men who sat there, he remembered how hopeful they all were in the beginning. How faithful in their songs, gospels, and hymns. 

Now, however, his revolution was cut down in Philadelphia. After a string of demoralizing defeats, it was the final nail in the coffin. His leaders were quickly rounded up and treated like the traitors that they were to the empire.

” _Here they talked of Revolution,_

_here it was they lit the flame...”_

Alfred found himself standing at the front table, which sat facing the others and stood bare of any documents. It was here, he recalled, where his beautiful declaration was signed. Where Jefferson’s masterpiece became his birth certificate. 

_“Here they sang about Tomorrow,_

_and tomorrow never came.”_

He closed his eyes and lowered his head a moment to prevent his emotions from growing out of control and instead focused all his effort into steadying his voice. His leaders had sung bravely for him. Singing for them in return was the least he could do in turn.

He turned around quickly and ran his gaze across the whole room, across each table.

” _From the table in the corner,_

_they could see a world reborn!_

_And they rose with voices ringing!_

_And I can hear them now!”_

Letting his voice climb in volume, his song rang true throughout the room, his voice trembling with emotion and grief as he poured his heart into the words. Words that represented all of his hopes, their hopes, and the American peoples’ hopes that with the birth of their glorious Republic would come a new era in the world. 

He let his song not only honor his dear leaders, but the average men and women who stood up to fight for their freedom in the face of utter defeat. And indeed, in his mind he could hear the sound of their yells as his men ran to engage the enemy with their bayonets raised bravely. He could hear the determination in their voices as they fought even though their fellow brothers were being slaughtered, cut down one by one by the enemy bullets until not one roaring song stood to sing of their shared ideals.

” _The very words that they had sung!_

_Became their last communion!_

_On the lonely barricade,_

_At dawn...”_

Here, Alfred’s voice quieted as he felt his emotions beginning to lose control again. Feeling weak-kneed, he sat down in one of the chairs in the room and shook his head, tear-filled eyes raised to the ceiling as if he could speak to his leaders and men, as if they could see him. 

“ _Oh, my friends, my friends forgive me.._

_That I live, and you are gone..._

_There’s a grief that can’t be spoken..._

_Theres a pain goes on and on..”_

Violent images flashed in his mind of British regulars bursting into the room and arresting his terrified founders, already having captured everyone who had tried to flee earlier. Their army had finally crumbled, and their safety was compromised everywhere they go. It had only been a matter of time...

He let his voice regain its strength.

” _Phantom faces at the window!_

_Phantom shadows on the floor!_

_Empty Chairs at Empty Tables,_

_where my friends will meet no more!”_

Alfred stood and turned around as he sang, raising his head to let his voice ring as he took in all the details of the room and didn’t bother stopping the tears streaming down his cheeks now.

“ _Oh my friends, my friends! Don’t ask me!_

_What your sacrifice was for!”_

He was there for each of their executions. He saw each one be put into a cart and paraded around like fools for the loyalists as they threw rotten foods at them. He saw them be dragged from the cart and pulled up the gallows steps until he was face to face with the noose. He saw each one’s head be forced through and the rope tightened around their necks as they stood in rags and messy hair, a shell of what they once were. He saw the tears on some men’s cheeks, but on most he saw resignation, a desire to go with a sense of pride and honor and dignity.

And it was then that Alfred remembered that they knew this was a possibility. They knew what could happen to them and their families. His dear Ben Franklin had jokingly remarked, “we must all hang together or we will most assuredly hang separately.” 

They knew what they were sacrificing: their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor. Why? Alfred had stayed up late at night wondering that exact question. Why? It wasn’t until close to the end of the war that he truly understood: because they loved him. And they loved the ideals he represented and the freedom he offered them. And because of that they sacrificed everything so that they and their fellow citizens could be free. 

Letting this crushing truth settle in his stomach, he softened his voice again as he mourned to himself, slowly settling down on the cold, empty floor of the room, his grief overcoming him. As his song for them finished, he let his emotions finally overcome him and cried in the silent, deadly room.

” _Empty Chairs at Empty Tables,_

_Where my friends will sing..._

_no more....”_


End file.
